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#marin mumbles
turnstechgodhead · 17 days
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im kind of obsessed with the fact that bro seemed to genuinely enjoy/read dave's webcomic
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+ having multiple tabs open to the sbahj website
i dont remember if it was saidthat it was ironic or something but based off of the fact that scratch dirk thinks that its genuinely funny i think bro genuinely enjoyed it
or in some fucked up way he thought maybe this is the only way i can show that i care at least a little bit considering that affection is off limits
like; youre dave youre 13 your brother is an enigmatic master of irony and your super cool older brother that never showed any fucking emotion whatsoever referenced your silly webcomic
you are 1, embarrassed as hell, 2, desperately using this as a way to tell yourself that he cares about you because obviously he does, why else would he read and reference your comic ?? he's sooo cool
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1000dactyls · 2 years
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hanfu marin 🥹🥹🥹
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muzzlemouths · 1 year
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I love not being dca fandom famous actually. Constantly seeing my popular moots getting harrassed & asked if they're still writing xyz fic (fic that updated 1 day ago) meanwhile ICFY hasn't updated in 3 months and y'all have been angels about it. i am kissing all of you
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bas-writes · 8 months
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more of the doujin because look at my wife she's so 😳
bonus: she comes with a sandwich
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nervousmonolith · 1 year
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Everyone shut up new footage of my favorite creature ever was released
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amatres · 1 year
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sometimes i remember katla originally came into existence bc i wanted to know what it would take for an au where surana wouldn't commit the ultimate sacrifice and then i wrote her a trans wife as the answer
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akinachiri · 1 year
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i luv nautilus i luv coelacanth i luv all living fossils i hope they continue living for millions of yrs
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smille-c · 2 years
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Leaving France to go live in another country right now, not related with the french élections going on right now ahah not at all
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marine-c-jones · 1 year
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The candy saga aka I’m putting myself through hell
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skyburger · 2 months
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merrilark · 3 months
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Ik I've already said it but, MAN, biographies are hard. I picked up a Steve McQueen bio again, hope to finish before the year is up, and it's just so hard to keep reading because it's so sad, and it's not even trying to be.
I've loved McQueen's shows and films for years. He's definitely a nostalgic figure for me, since I used to watch Wanted: Dead or Alive all the time with my dad and grandpa when I was a kid. I have an undeniable soft spot for him despite the fact that now, as an adult, I fully acknowledge he was a classic old Hollywood asshole. Serial infidelity, abuse, exploding with toxic masculinity and ego that made him a terror on and off set, selfishness, always wanting to be the best in the room, etc. etc. As far as bad behavior goes, he's really nothing new in Hollywood where having an inflated ego seems to be a prerequisite for actors and directors alike, but it is understandably disappointing from the POV of someone who has loved his work since childhood. Don't meet research your heroes, yada yada.
But—and absolutely this is not excusing him—he makes me so sad. He was dealt a bad hand from the start with a father who walked out and a mother who he loved but never showed him real affection and carelessly exposed him to all kinds of abuse at her own hands and at the hands of her boyfriends. I won't get all into it, but the things this guy went through at such a young age and recalls with such flippancy or even pride is insane. He grew from a troubled, lost kid into a troubled, angry, lost man who found it almost impossible to trust anyone, burning down relationships and hurting others seemingly before he could be hurt himself. There are so many quotes from people who knew him best, especially his first wife, that strongly point to serious mental health problems and trauma that simply were not or could not have been properly addressed in the '30s-'80s. Mix it all up with a hefty dose of toxic masculinity and stigmas around mental illness and you have a cocktail for disaster. It's really no wonder he was the way he was; he didn't have the proper tools to manage his mental health and even if he did, he couldn't have because that would have ruined his career and image (how dare men feel things!).
He wasn't a very good man, but I feel for him. His life was a short rollercoaster of tragedy from the day he was born to the day he died at 50, and reads like one long scream for help that no one seemed to notice or look at too closely, including McQueen himself.
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rafayelism · 2 months
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dating the love and deepspace boys | domestic moments
featuring: rafayel, xavier, and zayne x gn!reader
(´• ω •`) ♡ modern au! can you guys tell raf is my favorite..?
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rafayel
a year younger than you. lies to everyone (including you) that he’s actually two years your senior. you only found out he was younger than you when you met his parents, who have his birth certificate framed. 
hates cats. despises them. they fill him with rage (fear). says he’s allergic (he’s lying).
“oh shit raf, this sucks! i guess you can’t move in with me.. i have cats”
“...you have cats?”
“yeah. 3.”
“i’m not allergic. i can move in tonight.”
chronically online. minoring in marine biology and majoring in annoying you. texts you over 200 times a day and if you don’t respond, he’s faking a horrible chronic illness. again. it’s amnesia on wednesdays, appendicitis on thursdays, chronic migraines on fridays… etc..
he has 2 followers on his private twitter. you and thomas. 
over 700k followers on instagram for some reason? he sells paintings on depop (he says it's depop but you’re convinced he sells them for heinous prices on the black market) 
cooks on occasion? has an apron that says kiss me im irish (he's not irish?) made you a tuna cupcake once?? 
pescatarian. not in the vegan/vegetarian way where he refuses to eat red meat but because he’s absolutely feral over fish. (is this cannibalism? he says its not)
lives in a 2 bedroom apartment with you but doesn’t use his bedroom. says your bed is comfier. turned his bedroom into a painting studio (IT’S for the black market you say!!) and sleeps with you. 
“raf,” you sigh. “don’t you have.. homework or something?” 
he sits between your legs, back against your chest as he scrolls through his phone. 
“yeah,” he says. you flick the back of his head because you know he’s smirking. “it’s called assignment: you. due in two minutes.” 
with his free hand, he reaches back mindlessly to grab yours. you sigh, fingers intertwining with his, a reflex as he leans his head back. his eyes meet yours and you can’t help but laugh. 
“well?” you ask, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he squeezes your hand. “what are the assignment details?” 
he chews on the bottom of his lip as he thinks, humming while his eyes wander across your face. he swings your interlocked hands in circles. it’s raining outside, the heater is on, and rafayel is warm like hot chocolate. 
“what?” he says, his cheeks a tinge pink. “you’re looking at me like that again.” a pause. he turns, his head now buried in your chest.
“just studying my homework.” you say, hands instinctively wrapping around his back. the laundry machine is running in the background, rain is falling against the window, and you faintly hear your rice cooker dinging in the kitchen. home, you think, is with rafayel.
“i can hear your heartbeat.” he says, voice muffled. “it’s super fast. you like me or something?” 
“i really like you.” you say, without skipping a beat. rafayel groans into your chest, sighing in discontent. 
“no fair. i’m supposed to be the flirter.” 
you press a kiss onto the top of his head and you feel his body melt into yours. the two of you fall into a warm silence, his breath steady as he traces paintings into your neck. 
“raf?” you mumble, eyes drooping. he hums in response. “did you pass your assignment?” 
he smiles. “with flying colors.” 
xavier
chronic napper. (yapper?) 
has 100 late assignments. failing all of his classes yet got into the top university in your country because he got a perfect score on his entrance exams. you thought he was a nepo baby (turns out he’s just.. smart?)
his procrastination rubs off on you… he is the WORST distraction and he knows it. so smug about it and uses it to his own advantage. will perch on top of you when you’re studying and kiss down your neck until you go to sleep with him. 
lives in the apartment on top of yours but is at your house most days, if not all. you ask him to move in.
“am i not already.. living with you?” 
“don’t you still have your apartment, though?”
“yeah..?”
 is that good for the economy?? is it financially smart? not at all, but he’s too lazy to move out and put his apartment up for lease. 
xavier sleeps with his legs entangled with yours and his arms wrapped tightly around your chest. the air conditioning hums in the background as you scroll mindlessly on your phone, dimming the brightness as you hear xavier stir. 
“sorry xav, did i wake you up?” you ask. he doesn’t respond, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he glares at your phone. 
“xavier?” you question, swallowing a laugh at his ruffled hair and disheveled clothes. 
“phone down.” he says, voice raspy with sleep and an octave lower than usual. you raise an eyebrow at him. 
“can i get a pretty please in this economy?” 
xavier’s eyes narrow as he snatches your phone away, snoozing the device and placing it on the nightstand next to you. his lips ghost your neck, pressing kisses against your skin as he mumbles incoherently in the dark of your bedroom. 
“xavier-” you breathe, giggling at the sensation. “that tickles!” 
he nips at your neck. 
“bedtime. now.” 
zayne
3 years older than you 
he literally has his whole life together at 27 which scares you so much
“my credit card is your credit card” typa boyfriend
cooks. cleans. has a 9-5. you’re interning at the hospital that he works at (he’s head doctor!!)
you’re just a sweet little intern and zayne is the big bad monster!! everyone at work thinks he hates you because he’s extra strict on you. doesn’t give you any special treatment, ‘ignores’ you most days (but also slips meals into your locker and hands you heat packs on cold days in the hospital)
no one knows he’s dating you until one day someone sees you leaving in zaynes car. 
“oh, you carpool with doctor zayne?”
“huh? no, we live together.”
“you WHAT???”
he’s a virgo……. erm……
the two of you get ready together in the morning. his guard is down when he’s sleepy and he’ll cling to you as he brushes his teeth and does his hair.
you wake up to the cold night breeze, blinking the sleep out of your eyes and shivering as you scan your surroundings. you yelp as you meet the attentive gaze of your boyfriend. 
“huh? whuh? huh?” you splutter, squirming as zayne holds you tighter. he’s carrying you bridal style in his arms, his jacket around your shoulders as the two of you walk to his car. you see the bright lights of akso hospital fading away behind the two of you. 
“it’s two am,” he says calmly, placing you down gently as he opens your car door for you. “you waited for my shift to end. again.” 
you smile bashfully, rubbing the back of your head. “well, i didn’t wanna just leave you!” 
zayne clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, eyebrows furrowed but gaze warm. he guides you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt in place. 
“you can nap on the way home,” he says, closing the door and sliding into his side of the car. 
the heater’s on already- courtesy of his super expensive electric car. he fastens his own seatbelt and hands you a hot tea and bread from the hospital vending machine. 
“drink up. doctor’s orders.” 
you grin before he leans over to press a kiss on your lips. 
“thank you for waiting for me.”
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gyllgii · 11 months
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I just realised the last time I posted on my tumblr I was actively going insane in paris. I am now elsewhere in France and significantly less insane
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muzzlemouths · 1 year
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people who write fanfic on commission. you are my hero
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haruchuiyo · 10 months
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Not so discreet
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satoru’s thighs looks so inviting and you want to sit on them really badly.
content: mat(u)re themes, self indulgent, thigh riding, light n(i)pple stimulation, f!reader, established marriage, names such as ‘sweet girl’, ‘sweet wife’ and ‘good girl’.
I’ve let this scenario marinate in my head for a looong time lmfao and it’s finally written, hope you enjoy this as much as I do hehe
It’s tough. Tough to only be able to look at the man in front of you, who’s sitting with his thighs spread while leaned into the couch, talking his friend and colleague Nanami.
It’s also killing you softly to only be able to look at his thighs. They look inviting and it doesn’t help the fact that he adjusts himself on the seat, completely oblivious to your very tough situation. You wanna sit on them, it’s excruciating not to be able to do that because you’re not on the confines of your home and his colleague is there.
You’re simply at his job cause he forgot his lunch box with only sweets in it, of course you would do the courtesy to bring it for him. It’s also gives you more opportunity to see your husband when he’s working. Just as you gave him his lunch box, Nanami entered the room and now you’re sitting somewhere else to not disturb their work talk.
You were still staring at his thighs when you hear him bid Nanami bye. You look up and his eyes meets yours. Then you see his pretty lips shape into his aggravatingly beautiful smile. That’s when you knew, he knows. He wasn’t oblivious after all.
“Are you really gonna sit there after staring at my thighs?” He muses amusedly and your eyes widens in surprise. Feeling embarrassed for simply looking, you let out an exhale.
“I thought I was discreet.” You mumble softly as you see him pat his thighs. Your heart pounds faster against your ribs and you feel a rush of excitement. Finally.
“Not that discreet, my sweet girl.” He says as he gently grasps onto your hand, helping you as you sit on his thighs, your knees digging into the back of the couch. As soon as you sit down, you let out a pure sigh of content while Satoru holds your hips.
His thighs below you feels so good, they’re so soft to the touch yet so firm. You adjust a little on him, a soft moan slips out from your mouth when you move against his thigh, which caused a friction up at your clit. You hear Gojo let out a soft groan at the sound you made.
“Sweet girl, this is what you wanted heh?” He teases softly, muttering by your ear. You shake your head his words as you unzip his sorcerer jacket while moving against his thighs once again and the friction is just too good, despite the layers of material between. Your head falls back as you moan again, fisting the material of his black sleeve on his chest.
“Of course not.” That’s a lie. You did want to sit on his thigh and ride them. Who wouldn’t, especially by how inviting and soft they look. The amount of times you’ve seen him trace his hands up and down down his thighs, as he talks to Nanami. The way he kept adjusting himself. And you already know what’s underneath all of this oversized clothing he’s wearing. Of course you wanted to ride him, you think as you feel up his abdomen, up to his pecs before moving towards his biceps below the sleeves of his jacket.
“Don’t lie to me, my sweet wife.” He says as he has a soft smirk on his lips. You caved in and let out a breath while sliding his jacket down his arms, revealing him in his black shirt.
“Yes, this is what I wanted.” You mumble as you stop grinding until you feel his hands tighten their hold on your hips.
“Take your pants off.” He says and you didn’t waste a second in obeying him. You hear him lightly chuckle in amusement and you swat his thigh for teasing you. After taking your pants off, leaving you only in your panties and a shirt, you go back to sit on his thigh and the rush through your body is better and you can feel his thigh even more. He places his hands on your hips again and he softly rocks you back and forth. You gasp as the pressure against your clit sent a rush throughout your body, while a proud smile lights up on your husbands lips.
“Good girl. Keep moving like that, yeah?” He says as you nod your head, biting your lower lip as you keep moving your hips over his thigh. You whimper softly when you feel his hands on your bare skin below your shirt. They trail up behind your back, you feel him unclasp your bra. Letting out a soft whine when you feel his hands nudge your tits and you gasp when he holds each breast in his hands. You feel him rubbing your nipple through the material and it’s maddening. You whimper out his name as you keep rocking your hips on his thighs at a slow speed.
He continues to fondle with your tits until you feel him pull your shirt up, revealing your chest, he pulls down your bra, making your breasts fall out and he doesn’t hesitate for a second to take your nipple in his mouth and suck on it.
His actions is sending a rush of stimulations throughout your entire body and you still riding his thigh, it’s all too much. You call out his name in a whimper.
“Yes, my sweet girl?” He mumbles against your tit. When he gives a certain lick to your nipple, you let out a soft sob. “It’s too much, ‘toru.” You softly cry out.
“You got this, hmm.” He coos at you before moving to your other tit to give it equal attention. You accelerate your hip movements and mewl when he bounced his thigh. The action startling but feeling so good you arch your back as you feel Satoru still licking on your tit. He does one lick then flickers the nipple with the tip of his tongue, before he sucks on it. The tingly feeling is all over in your body as you hump against his thigh and when he bounces his thigh once again, it sends you over the edge with trembling thighs and you come on him with a sweet little noise that Satoru loves to hear.
“Such good girl.” He gives your tit one last suck before he pulls away. He trails his hands up your back to grasp them through your hair. You’re still fisting his black shirt as he pulls you in for a breathless kiss. Your kiss is messy but so soft and lovely. He lightly pulls away and nibbles softly on your lower lip as you breathe through the aftermath of your orgasm. His lips move further down your jaw to to your pulse point, sucking softly there making you let out a pleased hum.
You trail your hands down his chest to his lap, feeling the bulge through his pants.
“Satoru, what about you?” You ask as you softly squeeze his bulge. Satoru lightly groans at the squeeze and his hold on your hair tightens. He gently pulls your head back to face him and places a kiss on your lips.
“Next time, sweet girl, okay.” He grins at you and you pout your lips at him. He flashes you a smile as he kisses you again, softly on your lips.
I need him to whisper “my sweet girl” deeply and huskily by my ear, it’s a need atp.
if you’ve come this far, a like and a reblog would be massively appreciated hehe <3
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vanderilnde · 2 months
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so true @altissiia. neighbour/butcher simon is but a matted cat that would charitably leave mice at your door if that wasn’t so off-putting
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It’s eight in the morning, and there’s coffee all over your work blouse. Burning through the canopy of your shirt, sticking your skin. 
You had loudly cursed as your foot got caught behind an innominate object, propelling you face first—and coffee first—into the corridor. Surely, the whole flat heard it. The tight yelp you released, the thunder of your nose colliding with the floor. 
You don’t care about the coffee blotches congealing in the hallway. The carpet has enough cryptic stains, ones that management isn’t bothered to fix, so you look away and throw a cursory glance over your shoulder—to see the cause of your fall—and grimace without conscious control.
It’s a bag of meat on your doormat. 
Wrapped in a plastic, sitting in a puddle of fresh blood. 
A few drops of dew glaze the bag by means of moisture. It hides its contents, hindering you from recognising anything inside. You poke it with your shoe, cringing at the cartilage and meat and marrow beneath the sole of your foot. It tumbles over in the clear film, revealing its gory underbelly and a sticky-note. 
The note is dog-eared, crumpled, and damp. Covered in writing written by a slap-happy hand. Sorry for being too loud last night with my mates. Guess I’m a hypocrite. Here’s some meat please accept, is what it reads. The tail-end features a poorly-drawn smiley face and a signature. Simon.  
He was being noisy last night. You were just too skittish to slap the drywall dividing you, or to knock on his door and ask him to keep it down. There was an overlap of voices, an undercurrent of accents, and the charm of beer cans persistently snapped open.
As you peel the note off the bag, the door beside you swings open. Simon stumbles out, sweatpants low on his hips, medical mask obscuring the lower shell of his face. By the looks of it, he just floundered out of the shower. His curls are still dripping with opalescent water drops. He’s shirtless, his chest hairs so blonde they’re almost glass-like. Tousled and wispy.
A few scars distort the skin of his ribcage and makes you wince. He’s breathing heavily, distending them, puffing out his chest.
“You alright?” He asks. “Heard you fall.” 
You realise you’re still on the floor. Simon looks cosmic from this angle—colossal—hauling with him disciplined muscles eclipsed by a soft belly. 
You meekly nod, rising to your feet. “‘m fine.”
Simon’s eyes flutter down to your chest. A hot-flash pools under your skin, sticky, messy, leaving you preening under his gaze, until, of course, you belatedly remember your spilled coffee. How your shirt sticks to your skin, revealing the barest hint of your breasts. You don’t cross your arms.
“You’ve something there,” Simon sniffs. He gestures to your chest.
“Um, yeah. I know.”
A whisper of discomfort marinates between you. Discomfort that Simon doesn’t seem to notice—or doesn’t seem to care about—as he keeps staring at you. 
He grunts. “I got you meat.”
“Thank you!” You chuckle. “It was a… sweet gift.” 
It takes you by surprise when Simon tucks his chin into his chest, grumbling. His crows feet crimp together like knife-edges as if he’s barely smiling. 
“Wait here,” he mumbles, then spins on his heel. You assume he’s going to put on some clothes, or bring you some more meat, but when Simon returns, he outstretches towards you a threadbare jersey, waiting expectantly.
“Stained your blouse,” he snorts. “Wear this.”
Owlishly, you blink. It’s your work blouse that’s stained. You can’t go in a Manchester United shirt.
“Um. I wouldn’t–”
Simon shoves it in your chest. At this point, he reminds you of a wet dog. Dripping wet, gratified of his gift-giving. Leaving raw meat that stinks of ammonia at your doorstep, handing you a shirt too-many-sizes too big for you. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.
His hand is still extended. Above his mask, Simon’s eyebrows pucker as if he’s pouting. Like a kicked mutt, confused, and a little ratty. You feel awkward indebtedness eddying through you, so you snatch the jersey from him and slip it on jointly. It smells heavily of nicotine and pomade, slightly impairing you.
Satisfied, he nods. You think he’s going to say something else—there’s a little stifle between the flicker of his eyes and his jaw—but he doesn’t. Simon turns around and slams his door shut in your face. 
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